


Resistance

by thesometimeswarrior



Series: Hold the Fort: Pictures of Hogwarts During the Year of the Carrows [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Guilt, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hurt/Comfort, Mentor/Protégé, Missing Scene, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesometimeswarrior/pseuds/thesometimeswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At 10:05 PM, after she knows his detention has already begun, Minerva leaves her quarters, casting a Disillusionment Charm around herself so as not to be stopped and questioned.  As she approaches the disused classroom specified on the memorandum, she hears Neville’s screams echoing down the corridor.  She wants to turn back, to go to bed, to pretend that this isn’t happening…but it <i>is</i>. And she is powerless <i>so powerless</i> to stop it, but she will be <i>damned</i> if she makes her student endure it alone."<br/> </p><p>Knowing that a detention with the Carrows will mean hours of torment for Neville, Minerva McGonagall pledges that she will be there for her student, no matter the cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resistance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Realmer06](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Realmer06/gifts).



> Just have to give a quick shout-out to aO3 user Realmer06, whose Neville fics, McGonagall fics, and Neville & McGonagall fics are my favorite and really inspire me.

The Heads of House have always been notified when one of their pupils have received disciplinary action, and therefore, the memorandum that appears on McGongall’s desk informing her of her student’s detention, and of its time and place, isn’t new. In past years, however, when she has received these notices she has been annoyed, occasionally embarrassed. The sinking lurch in her stomach she feels when she reads _this_ memorandum, therefore, the sense of horror that momentarily robs her of breath when she sees which student they have summoned, _is_ new. Oh dear Merlin. _Neville._

She knows that the Carrows have been itching for an excuse to punish him for an extended period of time for weeks now, that the small slashes they made on him with knives for refusing to cast the Cruciatus Curse on a first-year student were not enough to satisfy their sadistic needs for control over the person who has become the leader of the student rebellion. And now Neville has given them that excuse, an outburst in support of Harry Potter. They are going to crucify him. It does not escape Minerva’s notice that his detention is scheduled for 10:00 PM, clearly the last of the evening, so as to give them as much time as they want with him. She can only hope that his pure blood status, and the fact that they still have Augusta Longbottom to manipulate, will keep them from flat-out killing him. 

She runs through a mental checklist of ways she can protect her student, but short of literally attacking Alecto and Amycus Carrow, or throwing herself between them and Neville, she can think of nothing that will not result in him being punished even further. And she would be _willing_ to give herself for him if it would stop them, but, she thinks, the worst part is that it _wouldn’t_. The only result of that would be to incapacitate _her_ —at least to have her removed from her post, and very likely worse—and then she shudders to think of the person with whom Severus would replace her as Head of Gryffindor House. Perhaps one of the Carrows, perhaps another spare Death Eater, and in any case, no one who would even try to protect the students. No, she resigns herself, sighing, if she were to protect Neville now, he—and countless other students—would only be tortured again later. She cannot prevent what they will do to him tonight, and she _hates_ herself for it.

She can be there to support him after, though. And she will be. 

At 10:05 PM, after she knows his detention has already begun, Minerva leaves her quarters, casting a Disillusionment Charm around herself so as not to be stopped and questioned. As she approaches the disused classroom specified on the memorandum, she hears Neville’s screams echoing down the corridor. She wants to turn back, to go to bed, to pretend that this isn’t happening…but it _is_. And she is powerless _so powerless_ to stop it, but she will be _damned_ if she makes her student endure it alone. 

As Minerva gets closer to the door, she hears Alecto Carrow cackle, and she feels her blood boil. How _dare_ that woman.

“Ha ha _ha_ , Longbottom!” Alecto shrieks. “Bet you’re regretting raving about your precious Potter now!”

“Like...hell I am,” Neville murmurs seemingly with as much strength as he can muster, and Minerva’s heart sinks when she hears how faint his voice is.

 _“Crucio!”_

Again, Neville screams, and Minerva has to bite down hard on her bottom lip to keep herself from crying out. She is close enough to the door now that there is a good chance she’d be heard, and she is not willing to jeopardize her chance at being able to help Neville when this is finally over. Besides, she will be dignified, strong for her student. She owes him that much.

She sits herself against the wall next to the classroom, knowing against her deepest wishes that she will be here for a long time. Through the wall, she hears Alecto and Amycus alternate using the Cruciatus Curse, and Neville’s screams gradually turn to whimpers. Though it is not she under their wands, Minerva feels that she too is being tormented—every spell cast on her student pierces her physically like a knife. But precisely what is so horrible is that she _isn’t_ receiving those curses, but instead her student, the charge she swore six years ago to protect with the rest of his class, is. And she _isn’t_ protecting him, she can’t, _she can’t_ , she has to, but she can’t.

“ _Crucio!_ ” shouts the voice of Amycus Carrow again, and this time Minerva bites down on her hand in anger and, again, so that she doesn’t cry out. Despite her best attempts, she cannot stop the tears that come to her eyes—in pain for Neville, in guilt for her inaction, and in _fury_ at these Death Eaters who _dare_ come to _her_ school, and lay a finger on _her_ students. In her sixty-three years, twenty of which have been spent in the Order, she has used many powerful spells and even sometimes curses, but she has never longed to use the Killing Curse, never felt it twitch behind her tongue and in her wand-hand, until now.

It is two hours, maybe three, that Minerva sits there invisible, biting down every time the curse is uttered again, every time she hears Neville react, until finally, _finally_ she hears Amycus Carrow tell his sister: “Let’s call it a night, Alecto. It’s been fun, but I’m tired…” The Carrows emerge from the room, sickening smiles on both of their faces and walk past her toward their quarters. Minerva sits still for another moment and, when Neville does not follow the Carrows out the door, bursts into the room, cancelling the Disillusionment Charm once she’s inside. 

To her horror, she finds Neville in a heap on the stone floor and, for a heart-stopping moment, thinks the worst. But then she sees the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and she sighs in minute relief. The images of Frank and Alice Longbottom as they looked when the Order found them sixteen years ago, however, appear in her mind unbidden and unwelcome as she rushes to Neville and kneels by his side.

“Longbottom,” she says softly. “Longbottom!” 

When he doesn’t respond, she feels her heart pound in her chest. _Please. Not him._ She gently shakes his shoulder. “Neville.”

He groans.

“Mr. Longbottom, can you hear me?”

Another groan.

“You’re alright, Mr. Longbottom. You’re fine.”

After a moment, the boy’s eyes flutter open. “Professor?” he murmurs faintly.

Minerva nearly sings in relief. He is still here, still _himself_. “I’m here, Mr. Longbottom,” she affirms. “Would you like to sit up?”

Neville nods, and Minerva places her hand behind him to help him into a sitting position, and guides him to the wall so that he can lean against it for support. She conjures a goblet from the air, casts _Aguamenti_ to fill it with water, and hands it to him. “You should drink.”

He nods weakly, but his hands are shaking vigorously, such that he cannot bring the goblet to his mouth without spilling the water. Minerva grips his hands with her own, so as to help him steady them, and he looks at her gratefully as, with her help, he slowly brings the goblet to his mouth and sips.

After he has gradually downed it, he leans against the wall, panting, still obviously feeling the after-effects of hours of cursing.

This is his _school_. He is her _student_. “I am so sorry, Mr. Longbottom.”

“It’s not,” he utters as loudly as he can. “your fault, Professor. This…was _them._ And me for provoking them. Not you. I…knew…what I was getting myself into.”

“Nonetheless…” But there is nothing else she can bring herself to say. Still, she has to try, to express something of the horrible responsibility she feels for the state he’s in. “I…” Now, there is a lump in her throat. No, she will not cry again, not in front of her student, it is unprofessional, inappropriate. Particularly when it is he, and not she, who has been _tortured._ She must be dignified, strong for him…

She feels a trembling hand grip her wrist, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Not. Your. Fault. Professor,” says Neville as clearly as he can. 

Minerva looks at him for a long moment and sighs. He is wrong, she thinks, but she will not argue with him about it. She is silent for several minutes, as Neville leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

“Come,” she says finally. “I’m taking you to the Hospital Wing,”

“No,” says Neville. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Longbottom?”

“I don’t...need the Hospital Wing. It…it was just the Cruciatus Curse.”

Minerva starts at him. He of all people…“ _Just_ the Cruciatus Curse?” 

“I mean, it doesn’t cause any… _physical_ …damage, does it?” And Minerva knows that he too is thinking about his parents when he emphasizes the word _physical_. “I just…I passed out from the pain, but I’ll be…alright. I don’t…think there’s anything the Hospital Wing can do for me.”

“Nevertheless, Longbottom—”

“No. Because that would defeat the whole...purpose, wouldn’t it?”

“ _What_ purpose?”

“I…haven’t got a death wish, Professor. I don’t start things just to…provoke the Carrows. I do it...because when I stand up to ‘em…it gives the others…hope. I wanna protect the other…students, Professor. But physical protection…it’s not enough, is it? They…have to have hope. And if…I go to the Hospital Wing…it’ll look like the Carrows…beat me. I have to…show everyone they haven’t.”

Minerva thinks that she has never seen a purer example of a Gryffindor in her entire life than him at this moment. And in the midst of the self-loathing, and the anger, and the guilt, and the utter, utter helplessness, a new emotion swells in her breast: unadulterated _pride_. 

“Very well, Mr. Longbottom,” she says, finally. “Let us get you back to the Tower, then. Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

Evidently, however, he is wrong. When he tries, his legs promptly give way. Minerva manages to catch him before he crashes into the ground. 

“Never fear,” she says comfortingly. She helps him to straddle his arm over her neck, and does what she can to support his back with her other arm. It’s slow going back to Gryffindor Tower, because Minerva has to more-or-less drag Neville most of the way, but they are, thankfully, quite alone in the corridors, and the trek is uneventful.

When they finally reach the Seventh-Year Boys dormitory—which Neville now shares alone with Seamus Finnegan—the other boy sits up in bed. 

“Blimey, Neville!” he exclaims, aghast, when he sees his roommate.

“‘M alright, Seamus.”

“Mr. Finnegan,” states Minerva, nearly out of breath, and the other boy springs up to help her set Neville onto his bed. 

She cannot help but notice the awe—the inexplicable _optimism_ —in Seamus’s eyes when he sees that his friend, though clearly in pain, is nonetheless _here_. Neville is _right_ , she thinks, and more powerful than he knows. 

“Get some rest, Mr. Longbottom,” she tells him. “I will inform Professor Flitwick that you will not be attending his first period class tomorrow.”

Neville shakes his head. “I’ll see you at breakfast, Professor.”

Minerva opens her mouth to protest, but then, realizing it is futile, merely turns to leave. “Good night, Mr. Longbottom.”

“Thank you, Professor.” 

Even with her weary ears, she can hear the weight that he, weakened though he is, intends to be in that statement. She turns back, nods at him once before proceeding to leave the room. 

As she paces back to her own quarters, one of Albus’s favorite proverbs comes to her mind unbidden. _Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light._

This isn’t happiness. And there isn’t light. But, thinks Minerva, perhaps there is a spark.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
